All's Fair in Fun and War
by Gaeruil
Summary: One shot. In the midst of the struggle against the Yuuzhan Vong, Wes Janson takes on a personal mission of mischief.


All's Fair in Fun and War

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any of the characters thereof. I am merely having fun with them, and intend return them undamaged to the Great Flanneled One.

Location: An obscure base being used by New Republic forces in their fight against the Yuuzhan Vong

The morning air had been fresh and crisp. The sun shining in through the window and the sky was a cheerful blue. It had been my kind of morning. Today was a very productive day too. I had checked over my squadron and simmed with them that morning, and I had done all my reports and the necessary boring stuff that went with them. Everything was in order, and even lunch was now done. 

Now was the time for me to have a little fun and liven up the base.

Losing Coruscant had basically blown the morale out the airlock around here, even though Wedge had displayed his dazzling aptitude in tactics once again. The worse thing for a military unit of any size to have is low morale. It needed to go back up, and I had a good idea of how to help get it there—several ideas, actually.

I slid my tray into the recycler, and headed for the kitchen. After a bit of searching, I found the tray of pastries and cookies that had been specially made for Jaina and her goddess ruse. I grabbed several and put them in a small bag I had swiped somewhere along the way. They would be perfect for my first stop.

Isn't it amazing how some people don't change? I've known Wedge and Tycho for years, and, though their tactics are always innovative and, many times, very unpredictable, their personal habits tend to be just the opposite—predictable. For example, both tended to leave their offices more in the afternoons rather than the mornings or evenings. It was during these times that they were watching the younger pilots practice, and occasionally beating up on those same younger pilots.

They always claim to be keeping them on their toes, but I think they're really just stoking their own egos. I know how it goes, though—I do the same thing. It really does make you feel better. Especially when you run up against a young pilot who thinks they're the best in the galaxy. Nope; there's nothing better than vaping some hotshot rookie and putting him in his place.

I found Tycho's office easily. It was next to Wedge's. I got in easily, too. He always uses the same security code—with slight variations, of course. Wedge's would be a little more difficult, but not by much. I'd have help for his anyway. I passed through the door and found a typical 'Tycho' office. Everything was immaculately clean. It was always immaculately clean. That was something else about Tycho that will never change. Hobbie is that way too. I think it must be some kind of Imperial Academy brainwashing type-thing.

I glanced around the room. It was a fairly typical office—old, used ejector seats on springs and crossbars for chairs; cramped and crowded workspace with hardly any room to get around the desk. So very typical. Feeling a familiar sensation in my stomach, I pulled out my pastries and cookies. They were very special ones, and I had picked them specifically. They were the perfect combination of crumbliness, powder coating, and, of course, cream filling.

Eating my plunder while I continued my slow scan, I made sure to get as many crumbs and as much powder all over his chairs and desk as I could. Then I moved to the cream-filled ones. I had grabbed the ones that had been bulging and oozing cream. I knew they would be very messy and, while eating the first one, I was careful to keep my left hand clean. 

I picked up his datapad from its typical location with my right hand, and with my other, pulled a datacard from one of the thousands of pockets on my jumpsuit and plugged it in. The data transfer didn't take very long at all. I pulled up the file and left it. Now he could play Ewok Assault whenever he wanted.

Another cream-filled pastry sounded quite good, and after both hands were satisfactorily covered with the sticky sweetness, I tried to open the few drawers on his desk. I knew they were locked and I wouldn't be able to get into them, but that was perfectly all right. Slight movement caught my attention, and I used one hand to brace myself as I leaned over to look at his holos. I had to pick each of them up—for a better view, of course.

My pastries gone, I looked the room over again. I've been told I was a messy eater. The desk and chairs were covered in powder and crumbs, and anything easily cleaned was covered with sticky finger- and handprints of cream. He also had a game he could play should he get bored. My work here was done. With my still-sticky fingers, I opened the door.

After washing my hands thoroughly, I trekked back to my room. It was a bit more tricky getting back to Wedge's office inconspicuously. Of course, the fact that I had a large bundle in my arms and my longtime friend Buckethead was following me didn't make it much easier. His bright yellow paint had been faded and scratched over the years, but that was understandable. I'd thought I'd lost him several times in the past, but he always managed to survive the rare occasion when my fighter would explode. 

He was a wonderful droid. The best I could have ever had. He also has quite the personality. Over the years, I had even gotten to the point where I could understand him some. It's nice to not have to have a translator. It also comes in handy when you're in a situation where no one else understands what he's saying and can relay messages and stuff. Or when your systems are down, have no datapad, and have no way to communicate with anything otherwise.

While he was getting Wedge's door open, I tried to look as casual as I could. Again, with my rather large bundle, it was a bit tricky. After a few brief moments, the door swished open. "It's about time, Bucket."

"Perhaps you'd like to open it," he raspberried back at me. "You probably couldn't get it open in under a week." 

I shot him a dry look. "Your confidence in me is so inspiring. You never complain when I'm dodging enemy fighters with my wonderful piloting skills."

"That's because I know I could be worse off. I've known all of Hobbie's droids—Scrapper, Scrapper II, Scrapper III…"

And a lot of people say droids have no personalities.

I slipped into the room and pulled my bundle free from the protective bag I kept him in for traveling. He'd gained a few grease stains on his little flightsuit, and the clips Wedge had used to attach him to his own flightsuit as a Hawk-bat had created a few small tears. But luckily, he was still in fairly good shape. Just a little dusty, really. I sat him in the chair behind the desk for the moment.

I scanned the office with a critical eye. It was just a little bit larger than Tycho's, but basically the same. It had the same kind of furniture and small desk. The only real difference was the people in the holos—that and the fact that Wedge wasn't quite as tidy as the Alderaanian colonel.

First things first. I moved to the holos and looked them over, deciding. He had a few new ones. The most noticeable one being the one of him and his nephew Jag. Family resemblances could be a bit scary sometimes. Starting with that one, I carefully placed all of Wedge's holos so that they were lying down, and scattered around haphazardly. Next, I moved his extra chairs. One, I shoved further back against the wall, and the other, I carefully lay on the floor on its side.

"Oh, he's going to _love_ this," Bucket twittered in a flat tone for sarcasm. Well, _he_ must have come out of his power socket in a _wonderful_ mood this morning.

"Yes, yes he will."

Then I moved on to his desk. It was too tidy for my liking. He had a dish of candies on one corner, a neat stack of datapads bearing reports in another, and various other trinkets neatly placed all along the outermost edge. I quickly scattered all the datapads, then knocked a few of the trinkets over, some ending up on the floor. I thanked the Force they weren't breakable, then moved on to the candy dish. Its contents were promptly 'spilled' over everything.

Finally, I moved to my little buddy, Kettch. I carefully balanced him the way I wanted him, and secured him to the chair. I opened the bottom-most drawer on the right side of the desk and found Wedge to be quite predictable as well. He had two bottles of Whyren's Reserve there—his usual stashing place. One was unopened, and the other was three-quarters full. 

I removed the one less full, and placed an empty bottle I'd brought with me on the floor beneath the chair. The original bottle, I hid in the other bottom drawer. Next, I positioned his right paw so that it was angling for the full bottle. In his left paw, I attached a datapad with completed reenlistment forms and false transfer orders already brought up.

I scanned the room. It looked like a tribe of Ewoks had ransacked it. Perfect. As one last measure, I adjusted Kettch's cape. It was a special cape. One of two I had had to special-order from Adumar. It was identical to my favorite cloak—the one with the flexible flatscreen panels—only miniature in size. His played images of Wedge dancing with Ewoks on Endor. It had taken a lot of work on my part just to get in touch with someone who could get the necessary image files, and I had had to trade several favors to go further. 

Karrde wouldn't have Ghent go after them until he had some rare Carida loaarnii gems. I finally found some, but then Booster wouldn't let me have them, unless I gave him something really good he could tease Corran with—something he hadn't already seen. It had taken me a whole two days to fill the largest holovid disk I could get my hands on with the amount of stuff Booster had specified, then another day to edit it all.

My next target was the nephew of the man who had been my commanding officer for years. He was also the son of a former squadronmate—a very intimidating squadronmate. Need I repeat that family resemblances could be very scary?

We had been formally introduced about a week ago. _Formally_ does not necessarily mean _properly_, however, and I felt it best that he know me properly. Somehow, I got the impression that Wedge was trying to keep him away from me for now, though. Why, I don't know—well, that may not be exactly true. I have a bit of an idea of why he wouldn't want me around him. That won't be happening though. He will know me by the time one of us leaves first.

The final task for the day—the final item on my agenda—was to do just that. I slipped back into my room, Bucket right behind me, to double check my objectives. I also had to get Bucket ready for this task and put a few things together. On the way, I met Wedge's nephew—Jag was it? Though I could have imagined it, I thought I saw him flinch out of the corner of my eye. Surely it wasn't my flightsuit. It's a wonderful eye-catching color of shocking yellow.

I strolled down the hall, my mood bright and cheerful, and my face reflecting that—at least I hope so. Bucket was right beside me and we met a few beings, many of whom had reactions to my flightsuit similar to that Fel boy's. Other than those occasional beings, the halls were remarkably clear. After a few minutes of walking, we finally reached our destination.

Creeping into the only hangar bay, I paused and looked around for anyone that might notice me. Technicians were scurrying around, keeping the fighters prepped and all. Twelve fighters sat in neat order, each painted differently. I scanned over the different fighters looking for the one I wanted. It wasn't immediately visible, so I worked my way to the other end of the bay. I stopped and scanned the room again, searching.

And there it was.

The perfect little toy.

One of the few fighters I had never flown.

And no one was looking.

Perfect.

I shook my head, trying to get rid of the choral voices that seemed to be vocalizing in my head, and looked around to see that it was _not_ my imagination. The light directly above this fighter _was_ slightly brighter than the rest and the voices I had thought I heard were actually some machinery technicians were using for some kind of repair to a speeder in a nearby area.

"This is not a wise decision," Bucket warned me for the umpteenth time in the last fifteen minutes as I emptied my small bag and added the finishing touches to his and my appearances.

"Now _there's_ a phrase I've never heard in my entire life," I snorted in reply. "This will be fun."

"And _that_ phrase is quite foreign as well. It is a wonder among wonders that I have never heard it in all my years of undisrupted memory." Bucket paused and let out a small whine that I had come to associate as a sigh of resignation. "I suppose I will be attempting to bail you out once again."

"Oh, come now. It won't be that bad."

"So many foreign phrases today. Where do they all come from?"

"Oh, be quiet, you. Just get into the system and do what I asked."

As Bucket took the bag and rolled his way over to the nearest outlet to convince the main computer I was Hawk-bat One while flying, I jumped into the sleek fighter. I settled into the seat, and secured the restraints around me. I wove my fingers together, cracked my knuckles, then rubbed my hands together. 

This was going to be so much fun.

I studied the controls in front of me and oriented myself with them. They were very similar to those of a TIE. Everything was written in a language I didn't know, though, but I decided I could just figure them out as I went. Not always a good policy to go by, according to Tycho. I used some of the little tricks I had learned during my earlier years and bypassed Fel's codes.

I heard a quick chirp over my personal comlink frequency, and knew Bucket was in, and ready. I quickly kicked in the repulsorlifts—luckily they were in the same location as a TIE's, and rose from the ground. As I rotated around, I could see technicians running for me or motioning for me to set back down. Instead, I kicked in the thrusters, nudged the stick a little, and shot forward and out the door Bucket had just opened.

The sky was as bright and cheerful as my mood as I pushed the fighter to faster speeds. I was pleasantly surprised to find the four pylons didn't catch the wind like the solar panels of a TIE. That actually shouldn't have surprised me, though. I shot up over the treetops and climbed for more maneuvering space.

I pulled into a graceful loop and at the bottom, snap-rolled to port. I looped around and pulled the fighter into an eight-point roll. Then I climbed straight up, cut the repulsors and the engines, and let it fall back toward the ground in a flat spin before kicking them back in again.

Once again shooting forward, I slow-rolled a few times, letting the fighter sideslip to starboard.  But basic maneuvers become boring after a while, so I decided to try something a little more fun. I climbed again in a loop, but rolled out of my inverted position at the top of the loop and headed back to the base.

As I got closer, I edged closer to the treetops until I was skimming just over the top of them. I made a wide arc so that I would come in from behind the buildings. Once at the base, I dipped a little lower. Some support crew dove for the ground as I came in overhead. On the southwestern section, some pilots came running out of the buildings. I thought I saw Wedge and Tycho among them.

Then I saw Corran running for a fighter. Did he actually think I was going to let him get to it? I dove for him and watched with amusement as he dove face-first into a mud hole. "Haha! Hawkbats strike again! Where was the Force to help you this time, Horn?" Did I say that out loud?

I made one more pass over the base and then returned to the hangar. I cut the engines and let the repulsors and thrusters carry me in. I rotated the clawcraft around and set it down in the exact position it had originally been in. Outside the forward viewport, I could see Wedge, Tycho, and Jagged Fel. They had glowering expressions on their faces and Wedge was tapping his foot. Jag and Wedge also had their arms folded across their chests. 

There were some of those family resemblances again.

I wonder if Soontir knows how much his son looks like him with that particular expression.

Of course, the boy also has that look of severe annoyance that Wedge has too. They're so identical it's eerie.

I repressed a slight shudder and unhooked my restraints. I checked the little fasteners around my neck and made sure they were secure. Once presentable, I opened the hatch and climbed out with my best casual smile plastered on my face. Wedge stood there hiding his eyes at first, then he looked up at me. It was his usual 'I can't believe you're doing this to me again' look. I flashed him my most cheerful smile. The one I knew annoyed him the most. From the top of the fighter, I could also see Han standing over by the bay door. He looked amused and even shot me a thumbs up.

I jumped to the ground, my favorite cloak with the images of me on Adumar still on the flexible flatscreen panels billowing out behind me. As soon as my feet hit the ground, Jag lunged for me, only to be hauled back by Wedge and Tycho when some rather rude chirps and twitters—that I wouldn't dare interpret or repeat—emanated from somewhere behind me. I turned to find Bucket charging forward with his arch welder extended and sparking. "You don't want to do that with Bucket around, Jag," Tycho was telling him.

"Yes. The key is to wait until he's not around, then go after him," Wedge told him. He seemed to examine Bucket a little more closely. "An Adumari cape and hat for your droid, Wes?"

"I don't believe it," Tycho muttered. "Wait a minute. This is Wes we're talking about. Of course I can believe it."

I was quite proud of Bucket's cloak images. They were the ones of Face, Wedge and Myn Donos in their Dod, Fod, and Lod costumes. Their heads were bobbing in a continuous loop. They, too, had been very hard to get, and had taken more extensive favors than the Endor ones had.

"That one person in the middle in those images on the cloak," Jag began, looking first at the cloak, then up at Wedge. "Uncle, is that you?"

Wedge's head snapped back to me with a glare. "What?" I defended. "There's nothing wrong with those images—at least they don't show you wearing the lavender short pants and bright orange shirt." I looked at him. "Do you have any idea of how much I went through and how many favors I used to get those?"

"If they think my cloak and images are bad, just wait until they see their offices." Bucket splatted.

I smiled—a smile I could feel stretch across my whole face—and reached over and patted him affectionately on his dome. "That's my Buckethead."

Wedge and Tycho rolled their eyes. Nothing ever changes. They each came forward and flanked me on either side. "Come on, Wes. We need to have a little discussion in my office," Wedge said in that familiar tone of resigned exasperation.

Time for one of those long, boring lectures about responsibility and all that stuff ... Ah, just like old times.

Like it? Hate it? Let me know…


End file.
